Nothing's Fair in Love and War
by Sammy's Missing Shoe
Summary: "It would be defiance beyond his normal standard, hell, maybe beyond the point of forgiveness, but Dean had always damned the rules when it meant keeping Sam safe. So now, Sam was about to return the favour." Sam is denied coming on a hunt, but when he discovers a mistake that puts Dean in danger he ends up throwing himself into the line of fire. Hurt&Tortured!Sam & Protective!Dean
1. Always Shoot First

**AN:** This here is yet another request for a lovely fan named double-0-nothing. The prompt was, "Sam, Dean and John are on a hunt together, (weechester) And the spirt takes Sam - Because it likes feeding off kids or something - And Dean has to find him, while Sam is being tortured." Anyone who knows me can imagine how I jumped on this story. I thank double-0-nothing for their patience, because I was almost unbearably busy for a very long time, but at last the story is ready! Story and chapter titles from a Three Days Grace song, _Nothing's Far in Love and War_.

* * *

"It's not fair, Dad!" Sam shouted.

"Life's not fair, Sammy, so you better start getting used to it." John snapped back.

"Dean started hunting when he was ten, how come I can't?"

"Because you aren't Dean."

Sam scoffed. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Watch your tone with me, Sam. This is exactly why you don't get to come on hunts. You always question my orders. Your brother doesn't do that, and that might just save his life out there."

"But, Dad-"

"I said 'no,' Sam, and that's final. You stay at home and research, and you get to start hunting when I think you're ready."

Sam's tiny hands balled up into fists, face turning red from frustration, and then he stormed off into his room, more than grateful that they'd found a place with separate rooms and slammable doors. And slam he did.

"Dean, go talk some sense into your brother." John instructed.

Peering up over the comic book he was reading, Dean fell into semper fi mode, and hopped off the couch. "Yes, Sir."

"See if he can figure out what we're hunting."

"But- we already know it's a-"

"I'm aware, Dean. If Sammy can figure out what it is, then I'll take him with us."

Dean's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Don't tell him though. When he screws up it'll just make him more upset."

Shifting slightly, Dean couldn't manage to hold his tongue this time. "If."

"What?" John asked.

" _If_ Sammy screws up." Dean corrected. Sammy was smart, and Dean was confident that he'd figure it out. With the remark made, Dean went off to Sam's room.

Dean knocked on the door.

"Go away." He heard the understandably grouchy voice from the other side of the door.

"It's me, Sammy."

There was shuffling, and then a lock clicked. Dean was greeted with Sammy's too long hair hiding his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Need your help." Dean said as he pushed by his little brother, and leapt onto his bed. "Trying to figure out what we're hunting."

"Why don't you ask dad? He apparently knows everything." Sam huffed.

 _"Dammit, Sammy, I'm trying to help you."_ "C'mon, Sammy, prove him wrong. What do you think we're hunting?"

Plopping down beside Dean on the bed, Sam crossed his arms and stared down in thought. "I don't know." He said.

 _"Don't give up."_ "Sure you do. Remember how all those bodies looked."

Sam's lips pursed as he began to process everything. "Hearts were left intact, so- that rules out werewolf."

 _"Good start. Keep going."_

"Signs of torture, but... Bite marks, which means the thing was hungry. Not a shapeshifter."

 _"Thatta boy. Almost there."_

"They were kind of neat though..."

 _"What? Neat? No, Sammy, no!"_

"Rules out Wendigo, so- it's probably a ghost or ghoul. Then again, ghouls don't usually go for the living, so... Ghost. Definitely a ghost."

Sighing, Dean shook his head, "No, Sammy. It's a Wendigo."

Sam straightened up, head snapping over to Dean. "What?"

"It's a Wendigo."

"If you already knew that then what the hell did you ask me for?!"

"Calm down, I just wanted to know if you could figure it out."

"Well I guess not. I'm just some dumb, stupid kid that can't hunt, or even come up with the right, stupid monster."

"I never said-"

"Screw you, Dean! Just go to your damn hunt already, and leave me alone!"

Stubborn as dad. Of course. Dean knew that at this point that there was no reason to stick around. Sam had guessed wrong, he wasn't allowed to come on the hunt.

But- he had brought up a good point. Were the bodies neat? Wendigoes weren't usually clean eaters, which meant maybe dad was wrong about the hunt. If he was, maybe Sammy would be able to come on the hunt after all.

Not that Dean really wanted Sam to start hunting though. A hunter's life was a screwed up one, not one that Dean would ever want his baby brother getting involved with.

Part of Dean was proud that Sammy looked up to him like that though. He wanted to be like his big brother, which Dean couldn't really be mad at him for. But still, it hurt to see the kid so upset.

But if he couldn't figure it out, maybe he still did need to wait before he started hunting. Although Dean decided that he should talk to John, make sure that they did have all their facts straight.

"Hey, Dad?" Dean asked.

"He get it right?" John immediately asked.

"No." Dean admitted with disappointment. "But he brought up a good point. He said the vics' bodies were neat. Wendigoes usually don't care about being gentle with their meals."

"Who do you trust more, Dean? You ten year old brother, or me?"

Dammit, Dad, don't do this. "I just mean, maybe we-"

"The reason your brother has to stay home is because he questions me. Unless you want to join him, I suggest you start listening to me."

Dean sighed. "Yes, Sir."

"Pack your things. We leave at sundown."

It was far from fair, but that was Dean Winchester's life. Shut down for asking questions, even more so when John was in a bad mood, which seemed to be the case today. Dean didn't really blame him though, not with November 2nd approaching so quickly, always a difficult time for everyone. It was clear why John was so eager to leave the house and kill something.

Sundown finally came, and Dean had checked on Sammy and said his goodbyes, even though Sam was less than enthusiastic, offering no more than a grunt slash huff to Dean's farewell.

 _"Your day's coming, kid."_ Dean thought hopefully. _"You'll be hunting right along with us real soon."_

Pretty soon, Sam was going to find himself a lot more involved with this hunt than anyone ever would have hoped...

* * *

Screw Dad. And Dean. Screw his entire freaking life! It was always, "Stay at home, Sammy," or, "Not this time, Sammy," or, "You're just not ready yet, Sammy."

His name was 'Sam.' And he was damn sick of always being nothing more than researching, incapable, always too little Sammy.

It's not like dad or Dean were always right anyway. Like right now. The hunt was not a freaking Wendigo. A Wendigo does not leave behind neat bodies. Hell, it hardly ever leaves anything except the bones!

But if dad wasn't willing to listen to him and admit he was wrong, thus walking headfirst into a hunt ill-prepared, then he'd eventually end up having to call his incompetent, little Sammy. That'd show him.

Looks like he better start researching. Okay, neat bodies meant it's something vaguely intelligent, and there weren't too many intelligent monsters out there. Shifters maybe, but unless they started snacking on humans for kicks, it wasn't their monster. Could be a rogue ghoul, but most likely it was some kind of spirit.

So, Sam began to research, which honestly was a lot easier than he thought it'd be. Local paranormal investigators had started pointing fingers at a supposed ghost of a cannibal from decades ago.

Normally, paranormal investigators didn't know jack squat when it came to actual ghost hunting, but they might be able to give some kind of a lead.

Digging a little deeper, Sam discovered a legend surrounding an old member of the town named Brian Blanncia. Supposedly, he killed people at random, and then had himself a little snack on the leftovers,

Freaking people.

Woods had been closed due to the rumours, but kids had started sneaking in, probably the cause of Brian's return.

Ha. He knew it. John was wrong, and Sam was right. What would be even better was if Sam called him and left a message just to prove how ahead of John he was. It was time John realised that his son was just as smart as him. So Sam called him up, grinning to himself just a little bit as it went to John's voicemail.

He continued scrolling through Brian's history as he relayed all his information to his dad. Where he killed, why he killed, even where he was buried.

But then he saw a line on Brian's page that nearly stopped his heart.

 _"Upon capturing and questioning, Blanncia revealed his love for eating children rather than adults, claiming that he could 'taste their innocence.'"_

Dean!

His brother was out there, and he had no idea! If Brian really had a preference for children, it meant his brother was in trouble!

Forget gloating to John, Sam had to save Dean. But God knows how long it would be before John so much as looked at his phone. Hell, by then it would probably already be too late!

Sam knew where Brian was buried. And John had left their ghost-hunting gear at home. It would be defiance beyond his normal standard, hell, maybe beyond the point of forgiveness, but Dean had always damned the rules when it meant keeping Sam safe.

So now, Sam was about to return the favour.

Gathering up a salt-filled shotgun and a shovel, Sam was ready. He swallowed, because even Dean had never gone up against any kind of monster on his own. Sam- Sam knew he could die out there.

If this really was to be his end, he had to say something, some type of goodbye.

No, a goodbye wasn't what his family needed to hear from him.

He picked up the forgotten phone, and whispered into it. "Dad... Dean... I'm sorry."

And with that said, he was off.

* * *

 **AN:** I don't actually hate John, and this story isn't meant to make him appear to be a d-bag completely, so sorry if it seems to be that way right now. Next update will be tomorrow, and the last chapter will be on Wednesday before the new ep. I know, regular updates from me again. It's nice isn't it? Whilst on the topic of next chapter, you guessed it-

 **Sneak Peek:** "'Dad, please, what happened to Sam?'

'He's being a hero.'

In the Winchester's dictionary, 'hero' was synonymous with 'idiot.'"

Lotta crap happens next chapter, and angst all around. Mmm, my favourite. Drop and review, and I shall see y'all tomorrow!


	2. Never Ask Questions

**AN:** I had to do this entire chapter on Google Docs with a laptop, which is not my favourite way to type at all. May have slightly more errors than usual due to that, but I made a promise to post today, and I intend to keep that promise. Please enjoy chapter two, everybody!

* * *

Being a hunter meant you were never supposed to be afraid. It meant you did your job without question or hesitation. It meant you didn't go alone if you didn't have to.

Technically, Sam still wasn't a hunter, which was lucky considering how he was breaking every single one of those rules right now. He was completely alone, hardly one day could pass where he didn't question at least one dumbass order, and he was undeniably beyond afraid.

He'd never done this before, he had no idea what could go wrong. Hell, he didn't even know if he had the strength to dig up an entire grave. Guess he was about to find out.

It was a particularly cold October night, far too close to Halloween and November 2nd. Both those days had far too negative connotations for his family.

The cold ground was a lot more difficult to break through. And Sam was still young, small, never even dug a grave with unfrozen soil. It was trying, exhausting, and frustrating as hell, but he knew he had to keep going.

His quickly numbing and small fingers gripped the shovel as he wedged it below the dirt.

Just as he began to finally breach under the first layer of soil, Sam's panting breaths suddenly started to fog out in front of him. Sure, it was a cold night, but not _that_ cold. Which could only mean…

Swallowing, Sam turned around.

Seeing Brian standing there, face twitching in rage, was not exactly a surprise, but that didn't mean that Sam was relatively near okay with it.

Heart beating like a hummingbird's, Sam dropped the shovel, and quickly scooped up the shotgun, one thing he did know how to use. He aimed, and took his shot, and Brian dissipated.

Okay, he'd barely even scratched the ground's surface and this this guy was already showing up. Not good.

What he did next was stupid, reckless, and beyond desperate. But he was desperate, and he just needed some help.

At the top of his lungs, he yelled, "Dean! Da-!"

But before he could so much as finish the final syllable, an icy hand clamped over his mouth, and another curled tightly in the hair his father always complained was too long. It took until now to realise that he might have had a point, since no matter how hard Sam struggled to break away, the grip was unrelenting, he was well and truly stuck.

Sam got even colder as Brain's head moved right beside Sam's ear, and he inhaled deeply.

"I can't wait to taste you, boy."

Eyes widening in utter panic, Sam began to thrash and scream against the hands latching onto him. He didn't want to die!

"Shh, shh." The voice hushed in his ear. "If you stay calm I'll make it quick."

Whatever you say, you twisted son of a bitch. Definitely no way you're lying at all.

Ignoring the request completely, Sam only intensified his screams, even attempting to bite the hand over his mouth. But then the hand shifted, now covering his mouth and nose. Struggling became a lot harder, as did the taken-for-granted task of breathing.

"Fine. You choice. Brace yourself, boy. You're in for a long, painful, ride."

Those words caused Sam to whimper, and soon, he passed out, more than fearful of the nightmare he was inevitably going to awaken to.

* * *

"It's getting late, Dad." Dean whispered as they reached the second hour mark of an all too quiet hunt. "Shouldn't something have happened by now?"

"It's probably there watching us right now, Dean. Waiting to make its move. Give it time."

Don't say it, Dean, don't say it, don't say it… "Hey, uh… You don't think maybe we should look into Sammy's theory about-"

"No, Dean." John cut him off.

Why is he always so damn stubborn? "I just mean- it couldn't hurt to look into-"

"What did I just say, son?"

"It's been hours, Dad, and we haven't heard so much as a branch snapping. Could we at least listen to what he's got to say?"

"Stand down, Dean." John's voice was slowly morphing to drill sergeant levels again.

"He just wants to help!" Dean finally snapped. "He's sick of being alone, and always being stuck at home. He wants to go out and hunt like us. Isn't that what you want? He deserves a chance, Dad!"

There weren't many instances where Dean would raise his voice to his father. The few times that he had had been for the sake of defending Sammy. He could deal with John's dictator-like tendencies just fine, he'd adjusted by this point. But he could only stomach so much when it came to watching his little brother suffer.

John went quiet, and Dean prayed it was in consideration rather than trying to conjure up a punishment appropriate for mouthing off to him like that.

At last, John spoke. "You really believe in him that much, huh?"

Dean's more calm demeanor returned. "I do, Sir."

Silence ensued in the forest once more. Then finally, John gave a nod. "Alright. I'll hear him out. You keep watch while I call him. Understand?"

Dean nodded, relief flooding over him.

"Looks like he already called." John said, and then he hit the play button for the awaiting voicemail.

After pressing it, John heard Sam's voice, which was currently tinged with a hint of arrogance. Couldn't really blame him though, kid probably felt pretty damn high and mighty at the moment.

"Sounds like he's saying ghost. Knows who and where he's buried. He must've really done his research." Besides slightly humiliated having been out-huntered by a ten year old, John was quite impressed with his son.

Dean suppressed his proud grin. Sam had done something very difficult. He'd proven John Winchester wrong. "What do you think, Dad? Should we check the guy's grave out?"

John had gone quiet. Eerily quiet.

"Dad?"

Stoicism was John's usual expression, but right now, if Dean wasn't mistaken, he looked worried. Then, in an instant, he hissed out a curse and snapped his phone shut.

"What? What's wrong, Dad?"

He'd yet to respond, but John ran a nervous hand through his hair as he flipped his phone back open and started dialing.

"Dad, talk to me!" John ignoring him was only elevating Dean's panic.

A few more seconds passed, and then John shut the phone again. "Dammit, Sammy…"

"Is he in trouble? What's going on?"

"We gotta move."

More than willing to cooperate, Dean gathered everything he was carrying with him, ready to leave. "Where are we going? Dad, please, what happened to Sam?"

"He's being a hero."

In the Winchester's dictionary, 'hero' was synonymous with 'idiot.' But what was John trying to say? Where the hell was Sam?!

* * *

Sam had no idea where the hell he was. All he knew was that he shouldn't have come here. If this ghost didn't kill him, he knew his father definitely would.

He also knew he was tied up. And well. He wasn't actually tied to anything, but getting himself out of knots was not his specialty. And his feet being tied together didn't help anything either. Neither did the gag in his mouth. God, he was so screwed.

Being trapped wasn't even the worst part about this situation. It was the godforsaken absolute stench spewing throughout wherever the hell he was. It was the putrid scent of decades of decaying corpses. Some parts of victims were still lingering around the room. Rotting and bloody.

Sam was shaking. And it wasn't because all he had on was a thin t-shirt, or because he kept swearing he felt a rat skittering by his feet. No, it was because he was scared out of his mind.

Knowing everything about hunting and actually hunting were just about as opposite as opposite could be. Sam knew just about everything that there was to know, he'd come prepared and ready to fight, but none of that had meant jack squat when he'd actually come face to face with the ghost. He'd gotten worried, which made him vulnerable, and that was exactly what had gotten him into this mess.

God, he missed Dean…

He shouldn't have allowed his mind to drift there, to an area of hope, because when he heard a door open, followed by footsteps, his first thought was that his brother had finally arrived to save him.

Hope was a bitch, because having hope made it hurt a hell of a lot more when he realised that the person entering was not his brother, but Brian.

His struggles renewed again, but it was born from fear, rather than actual logic or anything remotely associated with sanity.

"Shh." Brian hushed once more, and Sam saw the gleam of a knife, too hard to miss in that dimly lit room. "We'll start small."

Sam didn't stop struggling. He may only be prolonging his inevitable pain, but any chance he had at delaying it, you bet your ass he was going to take it.

Cold hands suddenly seized Sam's bound arms, and began dragging him closer to the wall. Sam didn't know why, but he was pretty certain that the reason wasn't good.

When he felt his bound hands get attached to a metal hook in the wall, he couldn't help but whimper.

The tip of the blade pricked under his chin, forcing his head upwards. Air panted in and out of his nose at an alarmingly fast pace.

Goosebumps prickled over Sam's skin as Brian trailed the knife down Sam's neck, then across his collarbone. He lightly pierced the point of it onto a nerve, gaining a pained cry from his victim. The knife trailed over the boy's skin, then finally came to rest at his bicep.

"Hold still now."

Pain burst along Sam's arm, the shock of a _knife slicing into his skin_ numbed it for a fleeting second. But once that second passed, his teeth dug into the gag as he tried to choke down his scream. He wasn't sure why bothered staying quiet. Not screaming didn't make it hurt any less. And it wasn't like Brian didn't already know how afraid Sam was. Maybe it would be his only (or his last) victory. Not screaming. God, how pathetic was that?

The actual cutting wasn't what hurt. No, it wasn't until Brian dug his fingers under Sam's skin, and started peeling that Sam was really about to lose it.

So much for not screaming.

Sam had always loved history. He'd always had a particular fondness for medieval times. But as most know, the medieval times didn't have the happiest of connotations.

When people first hear the word, their minds are usually King Arthur, knights, or torture. One particular method Sam had read about was the art of flaying. Long strips of skin were stripped away as quickly or slowly as the the torturer wished, and the more skilled torturers could peel up to foot-long strips.

Sam prayed Brian wasn't that talented.

A pained wail escaped the gag, and Sam bucked wildly, only further aggravating the wound, but his thrashing did put an end to the unbearable agony of being skinned.

Although he didn't want to, his eyes fell on the flap of skin Brian was holding in front of him. His stomach churned with disgust, and he fought the urge to hurl. Should he be sick, the gag in his mouth would have caused him to choke on it.

He nearly lost it when Brian stuck his skin into his mouth, chewing noisily and smacking his lips. He even gave a content hum as he savoured the glorious taste.

"You have no idea what you're missing." Brian commented after he swallowed.

Cold suddenly washed over Sam, icy breath tingling by his ear where Brian's lips rested far too closely. "Because, boy, you taste amazing."

Shock or pain or disgust finally kicked in tenfold, and Sam mercifully passed out.

* * *

 **AN:** Once again, I apologise for my probably numerous errors. I most likely will not have time to edit tonight, but I will do what I can. So- story's done and has one more chapter, and y'all know what that means!

 **Sneak Peek:** "He shouted beneath the gag to alert his brother of where he was. Also Brian might've just hit an artery, but that's less optimistic.

See y'all tomorrow, and don't forget to review! I love to see so many of you following, and I'd love to hear from you too ;)


	3. Never Think of Consequences

**AN:** Painfully big hurry to get this posted, time crunch. lots of errors probably. yadda yadda yadda. Okay, quick vent so potential spoilers for season 11: I'm pretty sure that they new promo made it seem like Sam is not the one who is going to say yes, but Cas. Just saying… Okay, on with the final chapter!

* * *

So far, all Dean knew was that Sam was in serious trouble. How, where, or why were still unclear. And it was bugging the hell out of him.

Nonetheless, he continued running after his father, no clue where the hell he was going, because unlike Sam, he was more willing to follow an order blindly, no matter how much he really wanted to know what was going on.

"What about the Wendigo, Dad?"

"It's not a Wendigo."

… Okay. So- why the hell is John running? "So then what is it?"

"Spirit. Sam knows exactly where he's buried too."

Dean was still lost. "You said Sam was in dan-"

"Hurry up. Dean." John cut him off.

Resisting the urge to start screaming at his father for being a cryptic bastard, Dean just forced himself to keep running.

By the time they'd finally reached a stopping point, Dean heard John begin to angrily mutter.

"Dammit… Dammit!"

"Dad, please, what's going-"

But that's when Dean saw the shotgun and shovel… _Sammy's_ shotgun and shovel. "O-oh, God…" Dean breathed out, heart racing now because of more than just the exhaustion of running.

"Listen to me, son." John instructed. How the hell was he so calm right now?! "There's gotta be some type of house or shed in these woods. I need you to go out and find it, okay?"

"But what about-"

John cut him off again. "You'll find him there, alright? I need to stay here and take care of the body. Take Sammy's shotgun with you." He ordered as he tossed it to Dean.

"What about you?"

"Go, Dean."

John was weaponless, but Dean knew arguing would only leave Sammy in danger even longer. So he forced himself to simply follow his father's instructions, and he hurried off to find his little brother.

But where the hell was he supposed to look? He and his dad had already scavenged nearly the entire damn forest hunting for a Wendigo that apparently didn't exist.

Think, Dean. The guy used to be human, and if victims were dying in this forest then he had to be here. The entire time they'd been in the woods, they had yet to come across him, which meant that they hadn't come anywhere near where he was holed up. Ergo, he'd have to follow his own tracks, and go beyond them to find Brian.

To find Sam.

Clutching the shotgun tightly, Dean ran deeper into the trees, bent on not letting anything hurt Sam any longer.

* * *

Sam hurt so freaking much. Everywhere. Mostly his arm and leg where numerous strips of skin had been peeled off. Add that to the fact that all his thrashing had caused his muscles to be sore, and he'd even split open his wrists that had been tied to the wall.

The worst part of this whole ordeal was the sounds Brian made as he devoured Sam's flesh. It was this horrible, squishy, masticating sound, one that Sam would pray to forget, but never would.

And Brian was currently making it all over again. That god-awful chewing like watered-down gum between his teeth. Not to mention the occasional, and bile-inducing moans of happiness that Brian would emit, clearly getting far too much enjoyment from the taste of Sam's skin.

Maybe this was what Sam deserved for wanting to be a hunter. He wasn't like Dean or Dad. He was weak. Had Dean been the one on this situation, he probably would have made some joke about Clarice or psychiatrists, but Sam- he just couldn't. All he wanted was for the pain to end.

When Brian approached him once more, Sam knew that fate that bitch, wasn't done screwing him over just yet.

His teeth sunk into the gag again as Brian decided away with the knife, and simply rolled up Sam's sleeve to start biting his shoulder.

It was times like these that Sam wished ghosts were less corporeal.

Brian continued biting, his teeth sinking deeper and deeper into Sam's skin at an agonising pace. His tongue lapped up the running blood like a parched animal, he even squeezed Sam's arm to encourage more to spill out.

Well-past the point of trying to hold back his cries of pain, Sam shrieked and wailed in agony, his thrashing on causing Brian's teeth to cut even more around his shoulder.

Ghosts aren't even supposed to eat, can't this guy just accept that he's dead and move on?

Sam felt himself nearing unconsciousness again, when the door suddenly swung open. He didn't know what to expect, but when he heard the familiar voice call out his name, he no longer felt the need to pass out.

He shouted beneath the gag to alert his brother of where he was. Also Brian may have just hit an artery, but that's less optimistic.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted again as he hurried down the steps.

"Mine!" Brian hissed, after wrenching his teeth out of Sam's arm. He started to charge Dean, but Dean lifted the shotgun, and pulled the trigger, causing Brian to dissipate.

As soon as the spirit was gone, Dean rushed over to his brother.

"God, Sammy…" He breathed out as he took in all the damage littering his little brother's body.

Sam let out a whimper, relieved beyond comprehension to see his brother, but he still continued to shiver in pain.

Dean whipped out a switchblade and began sawing at the rope that was keeping Sam to the wall.

In the midst of it, the room suddenly got cold, and Sam's eyes went to a spot where the air started shimmering. Brian was coming back!

Sam started muffledly shouting in warning.

Dean scrambled to pick up his weapon again, but Brian was on him before he had the chance to fire again.

The blade clattered to the ground, and with his adrenaline pumping, Sam managed to kick it back towards his hands. He furiously started to cut through the rope, praying he would get free before it was too late.

With Dean now pinned beneath him, Brian inhaled deeply. "Mmm, I can't wait to taste you too, boy."

"Listen here, Lecter," Ah, there it was. "You made a big mistake screwing with my family."

"'Family?'" Brian asked, an eager grin beginning to creep onto his face. "That means you've got the same blood, don't it?"

Uh-oh. "Go to hell." Dean ground out, staring right in Brian's cold, dead eyes.

Simply smiling in response, Brian grabbed onto Dean's wrist, and dug his teeth in.

Dean harshly clenched his jaw, trying to break his other hand free from Brian's grasp, and attempting not to scream. Not with his already terrified and hurt little brother watching.

But when Brian's tongue started lapping up the blood and piercing through the cut in order to widen it, Dean's utter disgust got the best of him, and he screamed through his gritted teeth.

Just when he thought he was about to lose it from the complete _wrongness_ of this entire ordeal, he heard a shotgun go off, and he was free.

"Dad?" Dean asked, assuming that was who had just saved him. But when he glanced up, he saw that it was not his father holding the gun, but Sam. He was still laying on the ground, trembling, but his hands had been cut loose, and he'd managed to grab his shotgun. He held it with his good arm, the injured one left quivering at his side, the gag still wrapped tightly around his mouth.

Dean lifted himself up, wincing at the pain in his left wrist. He then moved to his brother's side, carefully untying the gag, and then moved to free his feet. It became a lot more difficult when Sam started clutching onto him. Dean wanted nothing more than to offer him the same comfort, but they were still in danger, Brian could return at any moment.

Assessing the worst of the wounds, Dean caught a glance at Sam's still heavily bleeding shoulder.

"Hang on, Sammy. It's almost over, buddy. Okay, I gotta tie up that arm though, alright? It's probably gonna hurt a little bit, but you know I have to do it. Nod if you're ready."

His little brother's head moved against his chest where it rested. He even nodded to give Dean better access to the wound. He was still completely quiet, but Dean wasn't sure if it was him just being cool and calm, or if Sam had maybe just lost it.

As gently as he could, he tied what used to be Sam's gag around his shoulder. When he gave a little tug to tighten it, Sam cried out in pain, and then bit his lip with a whimper.

" _It's okay to be hurt, Sammy, you don't always have to be strong."_

In fact, Dean didn't want Sammy to be strong at all. The kid was only ten for God's sake! He'd just been kidnapped, and tortured, all because he was trying to be a hero. To save his family.

Ten. Years. Old.

The room began to chill again, so Dean quickly grabbed the shotgun, and fired at the glimmering air before Brian could even show up.

Shells clattered to the ground, and then Dean realised something very unsettling.

The gun was now empty.

Dean quickly scanned the floor, hoping to find something made of iron, or anything like that with which to repel Brian, but he found nothing.

Determined not to let Sammy endure any more unnecessary pain, Dean hugged Sam closer to his body, shielding him from Brian. His little brother whimpered again, clearly knowing what was about to happen.

But then, it didn't.

Brian appeared again, and took one entire step towards them, but then he he began to ignite. Flames crept up his skin, and he let out a pained howl as he was slowly burned away to nothing.

The godforsaken room had gone quiet for a few moments, both brothers afraid to believe that they were actually free.

"D-Dean?" Sam finally spoke.

"R-Right here, Sammy." Dean comforted. "C'mon, let's get the hell out of this place."

"Br-Brian?"

"He's toast. Extra crispy, I promise."

For another few seconds, Sma was quiet. Dean thought maybe he was in shock or something. But then his little brother burst into tears, clinging to him for dear life.

Dean rubbed Sammy's back with his good hand, whispering nonsense words of comfort into his ear.

"D-Dad was right, D-Dean." Sam hiccuped.

"No, he wasn't, Sammy. It was a ghost, just like you said."

Sam just shook his head. "N-no, about hunting." His voice and his body were quaking from the force of his sobs. "I-I'm not ready. I-I c-can't- can't-" He couldn't even finish his sentence at that point. He just continued latching onto his big brother as he kept crying into his shirt.

"Shh, shh, shh." Dean hushed. "You were so brave, Sammy. You came out here all on your own to save me and Dad. If you hadn't, we could've gotten hurt. Or worse. Hey." He said to get Sam to look up at him, and it took every ounce of strength Dean had not to start crying when he saw the blatant suffering in Sam's eyes. "You saved us. I'm alive because of you. And if you don't think that makes you worthy of being a hunter, I call bull. You're smarter than me, hell, sometimes you're smarter than dad. You're not afraid to call him out when he's being an ass. That's something I can't do. You are so brave, Sammy. And I'm proud of you."

Sam swallowed another sob, wiping his nose. "Y-you are?"

"You bet your ass I am. And I always will be. Never forget that, Sammy. No matter what."

Sam gave a nod.

"C'mon" Dean said. "Let's get out of this hellhole." Dean helped Sam get to his feet, letting Sam drape over him when he noticed how Sam was walking with a limp.

Both brothers were hurting, that much was clear. But the knowledge that they both loved one another would be fuel enough to last them a lifetime. Together, they'd face all the world's demons and they'd always come out on top, because they were the freaking Winchesters. And so long as they stayed a family, nothing was ever going to stop them.

* * *

 **AN:** That last line felt necessary especially considering the episode they (and us viewers) are about to endure. Okay, so, thanks again to double-0-nothing, I could not have done this idea without you! And to all my readers out there, hit me up with a review, or chat with me after the ep tonight. We can mourn our happiness together. Already have another story in the works, but nothing's good enough for a sneak peek yet. So, until then, carry on, my wayward sons!


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